


Dead Men Tell No Tales

by simplydrasticvoldy



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Police, Badass Katsuki Yuuri, Big Dork Nikiforov, Dorks in Love, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Katsuki Yuuri, Pining Katsuki Yuuri, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-03-01 13:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13296303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplydrasticvoldy/pseuds/simplydrasticvoldy
Summary: Victor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki are supposed to be rival cops. Emphasis on "supposed".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of inspired by Brooklyn Nine Nine, but not enough to call it a b99 AU

Dead men tell no tales.

 

Not that Yuuri has heard from any. He's heard from people alive and well, people who've advised him against transferring to this precinct, who have in their gentlest words called the place "the closest thing to Dante’s ninth circle of hell". And that the precinct acquires such a high number of felony arrests only because the area is jam-packed with criminals.

 

"You see how this works, Katsuki," is how Sergeant Giacometti's welcome speech/warning began from across the coffee machine. The machine's strategically placed under the dead eye of the bustling workplace to make sure there's no place to snooze off. 

 

Frankly, when Yuuri was asked to meet up there, he'd half-expected some sort of newbie prank would be played on him, something in line with the place's reputation. But it was only the sergeant, bright-eyed and batting his cow-lashes, asking to call him "Chris," telling him first names are the stepping stones to _inclusion._

 

"I know you're ambitious. The idea is to take it slow. Get to know everyone. There you see that guy," he points at the poker-faced man with noticeably thick eyebrows, staring at the monitor like he's gazing into his own soul, "That's Seung-Gil Lee. Nobody knows anything about him. I once asked him where he studied and he told me to _eat_ _shit_. There are, however, strange rumours that he likes dogs. Proceed with caution.

 

That one over there," this time it's a young blond boy sitting at the corner, scowling at his sandwich, "that's Yuri Plisetsky. Used to be a perp, hacked into our systems so we made him our IT specialist. That's a win-win situation, right? Ah, and if he punches you in the face it might mean he likes you. Don't make too much of it.

 

"There's Phichit Chulanont, one of our civilian administrators. Speaks in abbreviations. Or in just generally weird words. I mean, who says _lum-faao_ out loud?

 

"Those, two detectives, Mila and Sara, friendly, tough, can and will bench press you. 

 

"That's our captain, Yakov Feltsman, grumpy all the time. Tries to be tough, actually a big softie.

 

"And finally, my best detective over there, Victor Nikiforov. _The Big Baby._  Solves everyone's cases in return for paperwork favours. Want to torture him? Just give him a lot of paperwork to do. He's actually older than me. He'd have made sergeant before if he were actually serious about getting ahead. I really think you can break his perp record, Katsuki."

 

The sergeant concludes with a tidbit about himself, "And if you ever receive a porn forward from me, you know my mail's hacked."

 

That was six months ago. During which Yuuri has accidentally bumped into Seung-Gil and his husky one unfortunate evening, been punched by Yuri Plisetsky twice, mistakenly forwarded one of Chris's porn prank to a superior, made best friends with Phichit and still hasn't understood why Victor Nikiforov never addresses him on a first-name basis when he does so with everyone else.

 

"Good morning, detective."

 

Yuuri looks up to find a pair of striking blue eyes and a light slam of a file on his table. Heat flares up his cheeks, his forehead, perhaps every inch of his skin. Victor pulls out a chair and sits opposite him, "Guess what happened. I wake up, I stop at Starbucks, I'm strolling down the street, coffee in my hand and not a care in the world when a crook tries to pickpocket me."

 

"Paperwork?" Yuuri finishes his anticlimactic story. Victor's eyes search for sarcasm; there isn't any, really, and they light up instantly.

 

"Please?"

 

"Okay, but last favour of the month," Yuuri tries to be strict, makes sure his voice doesn't sound shaky. Victor's almost four years senior to him and the most popular detective in the cop circles for his all-time arrest record. Thus it isn't a matter of surprise that Yuuri harbours a tiny crush – uh, _admiration_ , admiration is the word – on the man.

 

The air of magnificence around his name, however, eventually thinned out. Yuuri has partnered him on a few cases. Victor – in real – is dorky, friendly, way more hardworking than Chris made it look like and really struggles with teamwork. Like some grand ironic joke of the universe, his popularity and his attempts at close friendships fall at bitter odds with each other. He's closest with Chris though. Maybe it's an age thing. 

 

He's quite cute too.

 

"So I guess I'll see you in the break room," Victor says, as his eyes search around, "or in a while when Chris talks about this month's crime stats."

 

Yuuri stiffens as Victor swooshes past him, then plops his head on the desk. _Pathetic_  is the word, _pathetic_ is what he is. They have so much in common – solving curious crimes, owning pet poodles, a shared love for figure skating, and yet he cannot make normal conversation with Victor without setting his ears on fire. 

 

Pathetic.

 

* * *

 

"Katsuki has the highest number of arrests this month," Chris announces in the briefing room, "ladies and gentlemen, Nikiforov has been dethroned!"

 

That was the cue for Yuuri to blush furiously. The axis to his world shifts – where did that champagne come from, why is there exploding confetti and a unanimous yell of approval? – when Phichit jumps on him and wraps him for a half-hug half-selfie. "Look at that, geezer," from the corner of his eye Yuuri sees Plisetsky – what's the boy even doing in this room? – sneer at Victor, "now just _retire_."

 

Victor brushes it off with a grin but it stings Yuuri like a jab of a needle to the chest. Sure Yuuri is ambitious, but he'd never want his career to get in way of Victor's. He's nothing out of the ordinary, after all. If that's how it goes, Yuuri won't think twice if he needs to... 

 

"Detective," he feels a hand on his shoulder and his insides unceremoniously back flip, "congratulations."

 

He smiles. "Um, thanks, Victor."

 

" _What?_ " Yuri Plisetsky is scandalised for some reason, "No, no. That's not how it works. Be bitter rivals. _Hate_ each other! What is with the false _camaraderie_?!"

 

"What movies have you been watching?"

 

("80s gangsta-types," Victor whispers into Yuuri's ear without warning, and as much as it hurts his poor heart, they share a quiet giggle.

 

" _Betrayal never comes from the enemy,_ sire _._ " He mimes, they laugh again, and Yuri wants to die.)

 

"Yes, gang up on me, pig, when I'm taking your side," Yuri scoffs. He's right: it almost qualifies as a _Ripley's Believe It or Not!_  stint. Perhaps he hates Victor more.

 

The cheap champagne tastes icky and is sent out of the room as soon as the captain enters. The commotion settles and cases are assigned. Yuuri takes in a deep breath. His shirt's uncomfortably stuck with his body. He sure has been sweating, his nerves on a sugar high. He turns his head – all so slightly – then sends his body into an icy frisson. It's hardly his fault; Victor's looking at him. Eyeing him with interest.

 

He smiles, and Victor smiles back. Maybe they _can_ talk over the copier, be friends. Perhaps he can find out how Victor likes to spend his spare time, whether he has friends outside work or a friend at all, what television he likes, what kind of pizza toppings he prefers... 

 

Except this is the office, and no one cares about _camaraderie._ Suddenly, just like that – like it's an actual big deal, like it wasn't some fluke, like Victor doesn't have an upper-hand of three whole years on him – the _dethroning_ becomes the raging talk of the precinct. And it only escalates from there.

 

* * *

 

**_Group chat: Where's the crime at Peeps_ **

 

 **_Chris:_ ** _I bet three days' lunch that Victor's gonna steal his spot back_

 ** _Mila_** : _lol cheap_

 **_Mila:_ ** _bet better_

 

Yuuri sighs at his buzzing phone. Not again.

 

 ** _Yuuri:_** _Guys seriously, it's been three days_.

 

Why are they so bent on making Victor hate him? 

 

 **_Chris:_ ** _Ohoho Yuuri is threatened_

 **_Phichit:_ ** _Don't worry Yuuri your man is here B-)_

 **_Phichit:_ ** _Chris, either stop or step it up_

 **_Phichit:_ ** _I didn't even know you brought lunch to work_

 **_Phichit:_ ** _Bet your money weak-ass_

 **_Mila:_ ** _lol that's what I said_

 **_Chris:_ ** _What makes you think my ass is weak, literally and figuratively_

 **_Chris:_ ** _100 dollars?_

 **_Yurio:_ ** _money is boring_

 **_Mila:_ ** _cheerio wants more emotion_

 **_Yurio:_ ** _shut it hag. Katsuki bet your dog._

 **_Mila:_ ** _bad idea cheerio_

 **_Yuuri:_ ** _..._

 **_Yuuri:_ ** _Thank you, Mila._

 **_Phichit_ ** _: Soooo worst case they exchange leashes, go to a park and walk their dogs. That's your idea of a war Yuri? XD_

 

**[Yuuri left]**

 

**[Chris added Yuuri]**

 

 **_Chris_ ** _: Where do you think you are going Katsuki_

 **_Victor:_ ** _Hello there! <3_

 ** _Victor:_** _Yuuri_ , _you're welcome to walk Makkachin anytime_. _But don't bank any hope on next month. ;)_

 **_Phichit:_ ** _OH SHIT_

 **_Phichit:_ ** _OH SHIT_

 **_Mila:_ ** _Fuck_

 **_Phichit:_ ** _Yuuri hop on_

 **_Phichit:_ ** _Yuuuuuuri_

 **_Yurio:_ ** _GODDAMIT BURN HIS HIDEOUS PINK CADILLAC KATSUDON_

 **_Chris:_ ** _You scared him Victor, it's not nice_

 **_Sara:_ ** _Okay guys let's not force Yuuri in this if he doesn't want to I mean_

 **_Yuuri:_ ** _Sorry guys, I was just googling how to burn a car. Do you think gasoline's gonna go down next month or should I start stocking now?_

 **_Sara:_ ** _let the boy live_

 **_Sara:_ ** _wait what_

 **_Mila:_ ** _..._

 **_Phichit:_ ** _..._

 **_Phichit:_ ** _FML_

 **_Phichit:_ ** _is it actually happening_

 **_Phichit:_ ** _We are witnessing history people_

 **_Yurio:_ ** _we are burning the car yesss_

 **_Chris:_ ** _IF he wins that is_

 **_Chris:_ ** _So let me get this straight_

 **_Chris:_ ** _If Yuuri wins, he takes the car, is that right?_

 **_Chris:_ ** _And if Victor wins...?_

 

And that is it. Yuuri doesn't want to read anymore. He plunges the phone under three layers of blankets. Opens up the windows to let the traffic sounds in, sets the TV up to its highest volume. He's surprised he's still hearing notification pings with his heart drumming _that_ loud against his ribcage. 

 

He doesn't want to set anyone's car on fire, it's crazy. Yes, he's a teensy bit competitive but it was all in the spirit of a joke, right? He just went up against Victor and proposed to burn his car. Victor must be planning to sledgehammer him at his job. A strange mixture of guilt and arousal – _arousal, really?_  – trebles in his veins when he slumps back on his pillow. And by Murphy's Law, under three layers of denial, he feels the device buzz right under his head.

 

 **_Victor:_ ** _If I win, Yuuri has to go out on a date with me. WHILST I make sure it's the most embarrassing time of his life. :)_

 

Yuuri drops the phone.

 

* * *

 

"That was very subtly done," Chris comments over lunch the next day, "You were real smooth."

 

Victor narrows his eyes at him. "I really can't tell if you're sarcastic."

 

"Victor, if you were any less subtle, you'd have popped out of his phone screen with a rose between your teeth and a ring in your hand."

 

"You know what, six months. I've been trying for six months. I don't care if I'm not subtle anymore."

 

Victor thwacks his can of soda back on the table with sudden finality, and then glares, half in desperation and half in I'm-not-in-all-parts-responsible-for-the-mess-I'm-in. It's true, though. Chris modified his hyper-energetic, freakishly punctual nature into a walking trope of _cas_ (casual or cassanova? Chris said it's a bit of both). Chris said easy-going looks attractive and goes with his public image.

 

Now, six months in, and none of it has yielded any palpable result. On top of it, Chris called him _The Big Baby_  in front of Yuuri and doomed him from the start ("The Big Baby? What kind of a nickname is that?" Victor chastises him later, "It's not attractive, it reminds me of an actual toddler toy I saw in a movie with my nephew. Like Chucky, but _bigger_!"). It did give him an excuse to go over and talk to Yuuri over minor paperwork, so he can't really whine.

 

"He's new," Victor mumbles, worriedly biting his pen, "you'd think I ought to mentor him, not push him like this. What if he quits?"

 

Chris chokes over his juice. "Quit? Yuuri Katsuki?"

 

Head nesting in his arms, his expression flips from concerned to dreamy. "Yeah, I know. He's great, isn't he?"

 

"You lovesick fool. It's just a month. You can always mentor him after the bet. Plus, a bit of rivalry breeds sexual tension. Haven't you ever been insanely attracted to someone you hate?"

 

"... No."

 

"That's because you're a nerd. _Buuuuut_  maybe Yuuri is a normal person."

 

In usual cases, Victor would've given up. But then he remembers the party they had thrown for the newcomers, where, thanks to crippling anxiety and knowing no one, Yuuri got drunk on sixteen flutes of champagne and - 

 

"I feel like we had a connection," Victor sighs, "Remember that newcomer party where he cradled my head in his _strong, powerful_   _but soft_ arms and asked me to dance?"

 

"I'd have forbidden you to ever describe anyone's arms again but wow, that's exactly how they were like when we got on that pole." 

 

"He never mentioned it again," he continues, devastated and dramatic, "he behaves like the night never existed."

 

"Oh c'mon, Victor," Chris shakes off his worries with a flap of his hand, "he's probably just embarrassed to bring it up. Don't give up hope so soon. You two are gonna get together, I can feel it in my balls –"

 

"– bones –"

 

"Yes, yes. I can feel it in my _bones,_ cheri."

 

* * *

 

"He's playing with your head," Yuri(o) Plisetsky shouts from across the room when he purposely overhears Yuuri's conversation with Phichit. "He's trying to get _mental_ with you." He adds for effect, "Not _physical_. Mental."

 

Yuuri throws him an expression as close as humanly possible to a question mark, then returns to his steaming coffee. Phichit simply laughs. " _Or_ , he might actually be interested in you."

 

 _Okay_ , every time Yuuri hears it, it becomes more and more incredulous. Maybe, just maybe, Victor is keen about someone who "dethroned" him, but that's that. That's where it ends. The whole _date_ thing is only to humiliate Yuuri, or maybe it's just some nonsense that popped off the top of Victor's head during the group chat. It's equivalent to Yuuri burning his car; neither is going to happen.

 

"Yurio's right," Yuuri surrenders, "it's probably just nothing and I'm losing my mind over it."

 

Phichit rolls his eyes, then rolls out his chair to click a better picture of his lunch, mumbling under his breath.

 

Yuuri furrows his eyebrows at him. "What did you say?" 

 

"Nothing. _Nothing!_ "

 

Yuuri figures a hushed " _party_ " and a strange emphasis on " _that_ ". Yuuri can't remember the last time he went to party. There was one when he joined the precinct but it was too low-key to deserve a mention six months later. Also, nothing _really_ happened there; he blacked out on champagne and its nasty hangover took two days to dissipate.

 

He looks up at the sight of Victor walking in – his hand, as if in rebellion, rises on its own for a gentle wave. Victor notices him before that, and not subtly either – he stumbles into a pause (maybe the carpet had a rough patch) and then smiles. Like it was a different Victor last night. Regardless, Yuuri smiles back, his insides twisting into a French braid.

 

Behind Yuuri, there's a sigh and a _thunk_  of a head to the table.

 

Victor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki are supposed to be rivals. Emphasis on " _supposed_ ".


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who am i kidding it's a b99 au

They keep track of the arrest numbers on the small, most interesting corner of the board in the briefing room. Three separate events involving the board occur during the month:   

   

\- The room unanimously screams when the unaware captain reaches out to wipe off the numbers.   

   

\- Yuri Plisetsky tries to manipulate the numbers but is caught red-handed and is forbidden to ever touch the board again. It wasn’t too hard to, they only hid his footstool.   

   

\- Someone draws a heart around the "N | K". The perpetrator is never found. No one erases it either, and life goes on.   

   

Now, with only two days to go, and both of them tied at sixty-seven, the hype is real. Usually, Victor wouldn't have cared this much. Yes, the date is at stake – but  _it_  - it is secondary. No, really, it is. What shoved it into second place is the new, competitive Yuuri - the passion that had barely glimpsed itself in the drunken newcomer dance-off has now burst out of its seams.   

    
And it has taken Victor's breath away.   

   

Of course, Yuuri is still old Yuuri. He's still gentle, shy, mysterious, low-key goofy – he still humours Victor's terrible paperwork excuses and they still talk like there's no big bet everyone is fixated upon. But then the one time Yuuri swoops ahead with three perps at a go - and as soon as he's done locking them up he tugs at Victor's tie and sasses him. It was the most amazing thing; it still makes Victor feel faint.   

   

When Victor's not too gooey and gushy about it, he reconsiders. Is it a good thing for  _him_  though? Does it mean Yuuri is desperately trying to  _not_  go on this date? Does Yuuri not like him? Oh no, does he hate him?   

   

Maybe it's only in the spirit of the game. If so, Victor won't back down easy. Victory or death.   

   

"Daydreaming?"  

    
It's Chris. He looks... interested.   

   

Victor looks up, bored. "I don't have any open cases."  

   

"Looks like you're in luck. Yuuri doesn't have any either."  

    
Victor's heart jumps at the sound of his name, but he pushes it down to the pit of his stomach and tries to be casual.   

    
"Chris, you make it sound like I think about him all day. I'm not  _that_  pathetic."  

   

Chris takes a chair, unamused. "No, I made it sound like your bet's about to end and Yuuri gets an edge if he is assigned a case before you."  

   

"Yes, yes, all of that.  _That_  is what I meant."  

   

"So, what's your plan for the date, you know, if you win?"  

   

Victor doesn't really have a plan, not yet. Not that he hasn't thought about it – he has thought a little too much – there are dreamy bits of them laughing together at a movie and kissing under the moonlight – all scattered inside his head, but he hasn't thought where  _exactly_  they'd go, what  _exactly_  they'd do.  

    
Also, it feels like treading into the dangerous territory of unhatched chicken counting.  

   

"I don't know," Victor muses, "maybe we can go sightseeing, and then a good dinner – I haven't thought this through, man." He's terrified to.   

   

"Wait up," Chris frowns, leaning in closer, "looks like you've missed your own memo. Do you  _not_  remember what you wrote in the chat?"  

   

"Yes, if I win, we go on a date. If he wins, he burns my car."  

   

"No, you said you'd take him to the most embarrassing date of his life. Dinner date doesn't sound embarrassing!"  

 

“I did say that," Victor mutters slowly. He'd forgotten about the  _embarrassing_  part. He never wanted to embarrass Yuuri – he just wanted a date – he only wrapped it with some pettiness so he could plate it as a threat in the group chat, and according to Chris, he still came off as subtle as a sledgehammer.  

   

Chris reads his lost face. "Look, it doesn't have to be humiliating.  _Embarrassing_  is different. Embarrassing is endearing. You need to walk that thin line. But you have to do it. In the spirit of the game!"  

   

Suddenly, Victor has an idea.   

   

"How many colours have you seen Yuuri wearing?"  

    
"Eh?"  

    
"I mean," Victor explains, "he likes understated things. He wears blue, black, grey, tan – you know what he'd hate?"  

    
"Your pink Cadillac?"  

    
"Exactly," the corner of lip twitches into an evil smirk, "and the flashiest date ever."  

    
  

* * *

  
     
  

"Mila, what's the situation?"  

   

Yuuri presses on his earset harder. There is some static, followed by Mila's hushed voice, "He went in. I think he's still talking."  

   

Yuuri shuffles impatiently on the other end. His eyes fixed on the back door of the car thief's house – he can't help but check his watch. Now and then. Then again. And again. Today's the last day – and it's 6:30 p.m. – there's roughly an hour before the bet ends.   

   

In the last couple of days, both caught a perp each and were tied again. This one arrest can tip the balance in Yuuri's favour.  

   

A small, sane voice in his head says he should relax, max it out. A draw means everyone goes home happy, Yurio is disappointed and no one brings this up ever again. But Yuuri liked this... whatever this was. It's the most included he's ever felt in the squad.   

    
He liked how Victor watched him with interest. He liked that he had a one-on-one thing with Victor. Granted he wanted to die that one time he went too far and tugged Victor by the tie without thinking. He also whispered something resoundingly stupid in Victor's ear, something along "the show's already begun". The whole incident was embarrassing enough to lock it in a box in his brain and never open again. Yet he doesn't want this to end.   

   

The point is, he liked how he's become the center of Victor's attention.   

   

That, however, doesn't mean he wants to go on  _that_  date. Knowing Victor, it couldn't possibly be anything romantic; it would be a crazy gauntlet and Yuuri won't survive the night.   

   

... Which means he has to catch this perp before the last hour ends.   

   

"Yuuri – Yuuri, are you there? He saw me – he's escaping!"   

   

Yuuri jumps out of the car, gun already out of the holster. He spots the perp sliding down a pipeline from the first-floor balcony - "Freeze right there!" - the man doesn't listen, hobbles to the ground instead, picks himself up and breaks into a run, knocking himself over the trash can.   

 

Yuuri hurries to pin his hands behind his back before he can escape a second time. "You have the right to remain silent - " he's handcuffing the man when Mila appears from nowhere –   

  

"Yuuri, hurry up! Only twenty minutes on the watch!"  

 

He looks up, confused. "Uh –"  

 

 "The bet! Now, c'mon!" She's already on her way to the car.  

 

 Right. In the last month the whole precinct had slowly parted into Team Nikiforov and Team Katsuki. Yuuri hopes it's just a joke that went on for too long, or it's scary how many people want to see a funeral pyre of Victor's prized possession.  

 

By the time Yuuri brings the perp in and pushes him in the back seat of the car, Mila had occupied the driver’s seat, thrusted in the key and is nervously tapping her fingers on the window sill. Yuuri takes shotgun, and the car  _vrooms_  off the exact moment he latches on his seat belt. “Thirteen minutes to go,” Yuuri tells her – and regrets when she steers the wheel like crazy, “Mila –”  

  

“You’re not gonna lose!” she is way too invested to look back – or anywhere – now; it’s like a battle cry, “ _Wahahaaaaaaaaaa_  –”  

  

They reach the precinct with five minutes on the clock, but it’s still a long way – the rusty elevator could be shut down, if so, they need to drag an unwilling (and a very confused) thief for six flights of stairs. The elevator’s working, but there’s a crowd of uniformed policemen right in front of it. They decide against waiting –  _so stairs it is_  – so they run, they run dragging and huffing and panting –   

  

Yuuri makes to the office space by 7:42 p.m. The bet ends at 7:44 p.m.  

  

“We... made it?” Yuuri asks slowly, his breath catching up. His heart flips awkwardly. Did he just  _win_? Did he beat Victor two months in a row?  

  

No, he hasn’t, because something isn’t right – because Yurio is uncannily quiet behind his monitor, Chris seems amused and Phichit isn’t looking up from his phone. And Victor – he’s leaning into his palm and staring at Yuuri with some kind of – (Yuuri doesn’t know how else to put it) – starry-eyed adoration.   

 

“It’s sixty-nine to sixty-eight,” Mila ecstatically shouts, “Yuuri wins again –  _in your face, bitches_! ”  

  

“Mila, no –” Yuuri isn’t sure if it’s the incoming dread or second-hand embarrassment that is choking up his voice, “It isn’t...”  

  

This is when Victor decides to speak. “That is curious, because half an hour ago I busted a prostitution sting. Caught twelve men – funny story, four of them were named John,” he grins, “Great, right?”  

  

There’s a loophole, and Yuuri interrupts, “That’s not a felony –”  

  

“It is when it’s your second offence, which is the case of four of them,” Victor tells them, before dramatically raising his watch-wielding hand in the air, “Ten seconds left now, accept your fate. Ten... nine... eight...”  

  

(Is there any chance a group of twenty-five people might burst in the next five seconds and collectively confess of having snatched that old lady’s purse from last day? It's the only open case Yuuri has.)  

  

“Four... three... two... and one. Victor wins, Yuuri loses.”  

  

Victor flips the board by his desk (‘ _VICTOR WINS_!’), plops a stereo down and pushes play ( _Funky Town_ , a wild guess), blows confetti – and now there’s music and people are dancing, celebrating (even Phichit, that  _traitor_ , even the ones who wanted to watch the car burn, all these  _traitors_ ). Yuuri stands in the middle of it all; it’s not a big deal to lose a bet, is it? Looking at Victor’s face, his wide gleeful grin, it seems Yuuri’s hell has only  _begun_  –   

  

It’s then that Victor pulls him by his hand to the center of the bullpen, a golden plastic ring in his hand, big enough to wiggle into Yuuri’s pinky finger if he tries hard enough (Yuuri’s mind has already signaled an alarm, “ _Why does he have a ring though_?”), it’s then he gets down on one knee and announces.  

  

“Yuuri Katsuki, you have made me the happiest man on earth. I have spent one whole dollar on this ring. Will you go on the worst date ever with me? You  _have_  to say yes.”  

  

 

* * *

 

  

 It's too late when Yuuri realises he’s running out of hair gel. 

 

He pushes back his hair and squeezes his old gel tube flat, meticulously smearing over the stray strands even as they bounce back. It's ten minutes to six; Victor will be here any second now. The ring Victor bought for him is stuck at the second joint of his pinky – he is supposed to be wearing it for the date (and cut his finger off in the morning when it finally dies out of lack of blood circulation –  _no, he’s only kidding_  – or is he). Victor sent him a package that contained his outfit for tonight – once Yuuri put it on, he didn’t dare look in the mirror again. It's a royalty tux kind of a thing – made of shiny, sheer blue material with silver buttons and embellishments – over a black shirt. Paired with Bermuda shorts. 

 

Vicchan whines against his leg, the poofy tail wagging. Yuuri sighs, “If I die tonight, you’d call up Japan and tell okaa-san and otou-san and Mari nee-chan that I love them, okay?” 

 

There's a honk outside his apartment. Yuuri peeks out of the window; it’s a pink Cadillac coming through. Victor steps out of the car – unabashedly wearing a pink-purple counterpart of the same outfit (Is it bad that Yuuri thinks Victor looks really good? This must be the final proof of his flawlessness) – checking through his phone. Yuuri jumps at the sudden blaring of his own phone; of course, it’s Victor.  

 

Yuuri takes the call anyway. “Date time, detective,” Victor chimes from the other side. 

 

“I’m coming down the stairs,” he tells Victor, hurriedly locking the door. Fake or not, embarrassing or not, it’s  _still_  a date, and that makes Yuuri nervous. He's about to spend the rest of the evening with Victor. Something he’s been wanting to do since a while, just not  _this_  way. But the idea of it makes him... happy. 

 

“You look gorgeous,” Victor jokes as soon as he walks past the main gate, “It’s a perfect fit!” Unlike the ring. 

 

“Is it really necessary?” Yuuri asks him, almost earnest and half-exasperated, running his fingers over the silver cufflinks that aren’t staying in place, “We look like theatre rejects.” 

 

“Or figure skaters,” Victor suggests happily, “You know the rules. The date starts now and ends at midnight. I decide what we wear, what we eat and where we go. Oh, and there’s one more rule.” All of a sudden Victor closes in and reaches for his face, his thumb tenderly brushing over Yuuri's lip. “No matter what happens, you’re not allowed to fall in love with me.” 

 

Yuuri lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His heart beating in his ears, he clears his throat and looks away once Victor lets go, “I - I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem.” He puts on a brave face and smirks; Victor smirks back, lip cocking to a side. If only Victor  _knew_ , he wouldn’t have been toying with him like that. “So, wh-what's the plan?” 

 

“Ah, yes. We’d be visiting the pub by the precinct where our friends are holding a small party, because honestly, it’s because of them that we’re in this situation. Sometime later we’re going down to a dangerously cheap sea food restaurant for dinner. And then, I've contracted a youth choir to serenade us. But before all of that, I have a surprise for you.” 

 

“Low-key dreading it.” 

 

“Oh, Yuuri, you’re going to  _love_  it.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jumps out of the heap of leaves: i am alive! (and will try to update regularly)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the date commences and they fall hard.

“Ice skating?” 

 

Yuuri peeks out of the car window, pleasantly surprised, as Victor brings the Cadillac down into the parking lot of one of the very few 24-hour open ice-skating rinks in Detroit. Victor's grin perks up a notch, “Thought you’d like it.” 

 

“I do,” he acknowledges, his mind still reeling, “How did you know, though?” 

 

“I didn’t. It's my night and I made arrangements the way I wanted,” he replies rather hastily. Split-minute later, he sighs, “Okay. I asked your friend Phichit.” 

 

This can’t be  _it,_ however, thinks Yuuri. There's something more to it, right – the embarrassing part? There is something horrifying waiting inside, isn’t there, like a flash mob, or worse – a rink full of people waiting for them to put on an ice show?  _God_ , is this why they’re dressed like this? The possibilities are endless, and each one struts through his head and clogs up his throat in fear. 

 

There is no crowd inside, thank the Lord. Instead, it’s empty – absolutely empty, brightly lit – as if someone has booked a private session. Apparently,  _someone_  has. “There,” Victor comes in with two pairs of skates, “rented shoes suck but we gotta make do. Try it on, and make sure they’re tied up tightly.” 

 

Yuuri puts them on, happy, nervous and terribly confused at the same time. He wonders how much Victor spent on this joke of a date. Should he ask? Is it appropriate to ask? How much does it charge to rent a rink for a while? Where is the embarrassing part? Why is Victor going through oddly great lengths when all it takes to embarrass Yuuri (the next morning) is to get some alcohol in his system and send him swinging along the lamp posts along the pavement a la  _Singing in the Rain_? 

 

“My legs are gonna freeze,” Yuuri glances at the gooseflesh from the knees to ankles. He's hardly steady on his feet. Victor pats his back sympathetically. 

 

He side-eyes Victor. “You’re Russian. This is a walk in the meadow for you.” 

 

Victor laughs. “Let go of the wall, Yuuri. You're gonna be fine,” he holds out his hand and Yuuri clasps it with his life, trying not to fall. He feels the texture of Victor’s fingers, and another chill passes through him. The ice isn’t responsible for this one.  He senses heat around his collar. Gooseflesh gone, he thinks he’s sweating again. How can he be hot and cold at the same time? His own hands must feel like the cold clammy hands of death –  

 

“Would you relax?” Victor laughs again, “I thought you liked skating.” 

 

“Well, I like  _watching_  it,” Yuuri tells him, colour rising his face. Victor clearly didn’t need to go on an all-out mission to embarrass him when Yuuri can do the part very well himself, he thinks. “The actual skating part? Rarely. Or ever, I guess.” 

 

“What a shame. Maybe I can coach you.” 

 

"You aren't that good either," is the best comeback Yuuri could think of while his mind concentrates on not falling on his butt. 

 

"Fair enough," Victor gives him a wry, mysterious smirk, his hand fishing inside his pocket. He pulls out his phone and angles it for – a selfie, is it? "Let's livestream our first lesson. Get ready to go viral." 

 

" _Nooooo_  –"Yuuri flails his arm in panic, the possibility of getting memed for eternity throwing the not-falling-on-butt part off the registers of his mind. He tries to tackle the phone out of Victor's hand – while Victor pulls it further away – in the middle of which their skates skid and they collapse into a heap on the ice.  

 

Their first reaction is to laugh, and when the thrill subsides, Yuuri realises the position he is in. His face is barely inches from Victor's, close enough to count Victor's freckles and close enough to feel his breath on his face. Victor's eyes are such a striking, nuanced shade of blue. Also, um, Yuuri's practically on top of him. If this were a  _real_  date, they would've been making out. The realisation stuns them both to silence. Sort of.   
 

"Are you alright?"   
 

"Yeah. You?"   
 

"Yeah." 

 

"So, er,  _ha_ " cue nervous laughter from Victor once Yuuri awkwardly gets off him; he's not so smooth this time. "Dang, look at the time," he says, checking the watch, "the night's running fast. We've got so much else to do. Let's get moving." 

   
 

* * *

 

 

"Hot date incoming!"   
 

Around 7:30 p.m, a pub close to a police precinct is ceremonially interrupted by two ridiculously-costumed detectives with a megaphone.  

 

"Let's forget everything for the moment," Victor announces, "and admire and comment on every terrible aspect of  _this_." He points at both of them, and Yuuri happily showman-bows to the cheers of their friends, maxed out in the act at this point.   
 

"Permission to use the bathroom?" he asks.  

 

"Granted. First of three. Use them wisely," Victor winks, trying to keep the treble in his voice a bare minimum.  

 

He started the night confident, Victor swears. Never mind that he waited out about an hour in the next block before arriving at Yuuri's door at six sharp – alright,  _maybe_ a little uptight. He was even fine when he saw Yuuri – who looked gorgeous,  _what_? They were supposed to look stupid. Yuuri had his hair gelled back and paired it with a couple of blue-rimmed glasses – is that look even  _legal_? 

 

Anyhow, he got through that. He complimented Yuuri smoothly, because  _smooth_ is what he is. It's the act, not the words that mattered, and he can put up an act anytime. Tonight, he's the smooth, flirtatious playboy.    
 

That is, until they fell on the ice and his heart popped in his mouth for the split-second he thought Yuuri was going to kiss him. He was sitting on top of Victor, after all. Their faces were so close; Victor could see the depth of his warm brown eyes.  _Ugh._ There are butterflies still fluttering in his stomach, he's heaving long sighs and he needs to soldier on for the rest of the night thinking about that moment.  

 

Would they get another close call like this? Should he just tell Yuuri he's crazy about him? Oh, no. Chris was right. Victor's no playboy. He's that whiny lovesick teenager who writes bad poetry and updates about his love life in vague tweets. 

 

"Living the dream?"    
 

Speaking of the devil, he appears, sitting at the counter with a glass of scotch. Victor walks up to him. "Heyyy, man." 

 

“My, my, look at you. You're positively glowing. Where have you been up to?” Chris’s cow-lashes are amused as he bats them curiously. 

 

“Went ice skating,” Victor tells him. And falling on top of each other. And  _almost_ kissing. It was wondrous, amazing, magical, terrifyingly amusing... Victor has too many words and yet not enough. “Got ourselves a private session booked. It was so much fun! You won’t believe the look on Yuuri’s face when I started a –  _why_  are you looking at me like that?” 

 

“You sneaky little bastard,” there’s no change in Chris’s tone except a new smug grin, so Victor’s not too sure if he’s kidding, “You’re cheating.” 

 

Victor backtracks. “I’m not – how am I – I'm  _not_  cheating.” 

 

“Private session, very romantic. Not at all embarrassing.” 

 

“He’s wearing a glitter tux for crying out loud.” 

 

“So are you. It's just your version of boyfriend t-shirts.” 

 

“I’ve hired a youth choir to serenade us in the middle of the busiest street –” 

 

“Ah, the perfect end to your Hallmark movie.  _Roh-_ _mahn_ _-tic_.” 

 

Victor stares at his friend (who is clearly enjoying himself), bored and annoyed. He sees Chris’s point, somewhat, but doesn’t want to accept it. It’s too late to accept that asking Yuuri out for real would’ve been easier than dancing around the subject with gimmicks for the entire night. Regardless, this fake-date is  _very_  embarrassing and he’ll prove it. From the corner of his eye he catches Yuuri emerging from the darkened hallway, and grabs for the megaphone. “Attention, everyone,” he calls out, taking Yuuri’s hand (who’s slightly surprised) and trotting up to the small open space of the bar, “Detective Katsuki and I would be now performing the steerage jig from the film  _Titanic_ , which we have prepared for in no way shape or form.” 

 

“Still romantic,” Chris quietly sing-songs from the side. 

 

"No,  _embarrassing_ ," Victor shushes him as soon as Yuuri's out of earshot, then never bothers again. 

 

"I have a feeling this came out of nowhere," says Yuuri as they take position. He's flustered but in a good way (or so Victor hopes), when the fiddle music blares and they're hopping on the dance floor out of rhythm.    
 

"That's precisely the point of tonight," Victor tells him over the sounds of cheers and wolf-whistles, "You gotta hone your ability to surprise the audience. If you have no inspiration, you're as good as dead."   
 

" _What_  are you even talking about?"  

 

"I have no clue," he laughs, "Now spin, it's the spinning part!" It’s just then he thinks he heard the captain call out his name from his own isolated corner, “I’ll be right back,” he whispers to Yuuri, letting go, “keep spinning.” 

 

He finds Yakov’s grim wrinkled face at the left table. His drink is just like him – White Russian, with just the right amount of annoyed. “One of our informants just called,” he speaks business as soon as he makes eye-contact, “It’s about the crew that lifts cargo out of the Metro. I need you to stakeout the drop site right now.” 

 

Victor’s heart drops to his stomach. No, nope, not at all, this isn’t happening. “I don’t think I can. I'm middle of this... date that I cannot reschedule.” 

 

Yakov is unconvinced, unimpressed, and doesn’t look like he cares about the details of Victor’s personal life. He stares at Victor. 

 

“I have far, far too many non-refundable deposits,” Victor explains, internally pleading, “I’m renting a tiger cub by the hour.” 

 

“For what?” 

 

“Don’t even know! I'm waiting for inspiration.” 

 

 “Well, this isn’t a negotiation. So, go.” 

 

 _Man, I almost thought I broke him._  Victor catches a glimpse of Yuuri dancing with others, runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. “Alright,” he concedes, in the only way he’d allow this date be vanquished by a boring duty call, “But Katsuki is coming with me.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

It takes around half hour to reach the cargo drop site. The neighbourhood is quiet and close to the river; Victor could feel the cool breeze rush through his hair even as he parks the car beside a closed store. His Cadillac isn’t like the usual workplace car and he wonders if it’s too pop for regular cops on duty – it doesn’t matter anyway, he’ll make sure this one is a short affair, if nothing goes too awry they can  _still_  get to the choir at the stroke of midnight... 

 

“I’ll have to say I'm a little glad to get out of that costume,” Yuuri confesses, having pushed his shotgun seat back, arms behind his head, “It was weirdly hot.” 

 

It takes Victor a second to understand the context in which Yuuri says ‘hot’, then he agrees, “I know. I think it was a cotton plastic blend? It’s still itchy around my neck. But no worries, as soon as we’re done here we’re back to the worst date of your life.” 

 

Yuuri laughs. It's such a cute little giggle; and every time he’s done he rubs the top of his nose. He looks good too – he changed into a hoodie and a tanned jacket and threw on a beanie (that he took off halfway in) and now his hair gel has worn off and his hair is ruffled like a stack of black feathers and everything is just  _too cute._ “It’s not even close. I've been on  _wayyy_  worse dates.” 

 

“Really?” 

 

"Oh, yes," he reminisces, glancing out of the window, "there was this guy my sister set me up with. Gave me a dental check-up with his spoons and cancelled my dessert. And there was this other one. Actually that one was not really a date." 

 

"What happened there?" 

 

"It was prom and my date fell sick. So I spent time with my two best friends, except my best friends were a couple and I ended up third wheeling them. It was kind of awkward for all three of us." 

 

"Third wheeling is the worst," Victor nods, "I third wheeled my dog once." 

 

"Yeah, that's the same, Victor," he says, slightly sarcastic, "What's your worst date though?" 

 

"I... don't date a lot."   
 

Yuuri is a taken aback at that. "No way!" he grins disbelievingly, "but you're so..."   
 

"Silly?"   
 

"Awesome," he corrects, "You're probably the hottest bachelor in town." 

 

"You think I'm hot?"  _He thinks I'm hot?_  

 

"I do," he doesn't deny, and Victor feels his insides suddenly dancing the conga, "I – um, I mean, everyone does."  

 

There's an odd silence, so Victor doesn't want to dwell on it. "Uh, someone left that door open. I bet we'll get a better vantage point from the roof."   
 

"Yeah. And I bet it doesn't smell like old cheese."   
 

Victor pouts. "Now that's just plain hurtful." 

 

It’s an old three-storeyed storehouse. The closets are locked but the door to the stairs is ajar. The roof is wide and littered with abandoned wooden boxes; there’s a bench near the parapet and a raised platform beside it. Victor climbs on top of it and looks down, even as blood rushes to his head.  “I don’t know how Batman does it, it’s pretty scary up here.” 

 

Yuuri is busy rummaging through Victor’s stakeout kit. “Your bag is full of nuts. And ants.” 

 

“I get snacky. Plus, they’re fat-free.” 

 

“What?” Yuuri does a double take, laughing, “Victor, it’s literally the opposite.” 

 

“That nut vendor lied to me!” he cries out in mock-offence, sitting on the bench. Yuuri sits beside him, shaking the bag upside down. “Everything is full of ants. The binoculars, full of ants!” 

 

“The ants can hear you, Yuuri, and they are hurt,  _hurt_.” 

 

“Anyway,” says Yuuri, ostensibly pushing the bag of nuts under the bench, “I think I lost the nuts.” 

 

“I should’ve known. This was all a ploy to kidnap my bag of nuts. This elaborate bet, everything was a trap.” 

 

“You’re right. That's why I joined the force,” Yuuri jokes with dramatic intensity; Victor is very aware of Yuuri’s hand on his shoulder, “You’ve been cornered, Victor. It didn’t have to end like this.” 

 

They laugh together, and Victor’s heart palpitates when Yuuri leans onto him. He realises he has locked his own arm around Yuuri; there’s another moment of peace when Yuuri’s voice trails into space and everything about this is so  _couple-y_  that Victor can’t help but wander into what-ifs... because this is it, this is over, the show’s over, and now he must muster up the courage to  _tell_  him. 

 

“So, Yuuri, I’ve been thinking...” 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

Yuuri is listening with all his attention, and some why that makes it harder. Has this always been this hard? Victor feels his tongue rolling up in his mouth and going down his throat. His heart isn’t giving him a break, this excitable little child, racing at every little thought – from the curve of Yuuri’s smile to the thrilling, terrifying possibility of a relationship. And it seems Yuuri gets him, because Yuuri’s expression,  _what is that expression?_  It's like he wants the same, he wants to kiss him –  

 

Victor's phone suddenly blares out, making them jump. He side-eyes that nuisance. “I’ll be right back.” 

 

Yuuri nods, as Victor saunters to the other side of the roof. He checks the caller ID: it’s Yakov. A vein of annoyance pops on his (big) forehead, and he puts on his fakest, most saccharine voice as he takes the call, “Hi, Yakov! Why do you hate me?” 

 

“What?” Yakov confusedly grumbles on the other side, “I was calling to check in. I have good news. Found someone in the night shift to relieve you of your stakeout.” 

 

Victor checks his watch; it’s fifteen minutes to midnight, and if they take the bridge they might still make it to the choir in the middle of a loud jostling crowd – like he expected – then he glances at Yuuri, simply sitting on the bench, inspecting the binoculars, dusting the ants off them, his shoulders comically drooping in defeat. Victor smiles, fidgeting in his small dilemma, then sighs. He needs to make a few more calls.  

 

“Um... actually, Captain, hold off on the relief team. We’re already here and... and I'm curious to see what happens.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe you guys are actually reading this silly fic. I love you all :P


End file.
